


Something Stupid

by pixiepan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Casual Sex, F/M, Pining, Roommates, casual sex that isn't casual at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepan/pseuds/pixiepan
Summary: Having sex with your roommate is stupid. Having sex with your roommate who you happen to be in love with is stupider. Bellamy does it anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For about a year I managed to convince myself I wasn’t really part of this fandom. After all, I only really read one person’s fic for it, and they were mostly AUs anyway. I am no longer in denial, so here I am. Writing and posting fanfiction for the first time in years, and for the first time ever on AO3. 
> 
>  
> 
> I need to thank [ennaih](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquandrian) (bff extraordinaire) for helping me to whip this into shape despite never having seen the show. Also for not laughing at me too hard when I finally acknowledged that I was in the fandom. And for only saying ‘I told you so’ a few times.
> 
>  
> 
> I also want to thank [Chash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash) because she’s the aforementioned one person. If she didn’t write such compelling fic I wouldn’t have kept coming back and probably wouldn’t have been inspired to write my own. I suspect my characterisation in this fic is drawn as much from her stories as from the actual canon (if not more) and I hope she takes that as a compliment!

It’s definitely not the stupidest thing Bellamy’s ever done, but it’s probably up there in the top five. If it was somebody else in his position, his advice would be something along the lines of _no, no, no, hell no_.

 

But there is no universe in which Bellamy is going to say no to Clarke when she eyes him and says, “We should fuck.”

 

For a moment he just stares, because he’s pretty sure some of his better fantasies have started this way (not his **_best_ ** fantasies though - they tend to involve embarrassingly sappy endearments and promises peppered between breathless kisses) but he manages to bring a smirk to his face and say, “We should, should we?” and is proud that his voice is steady.

 

Clarke nods decisively and stands up, peeling off her shirt as she goes. “Coming?” she asks over her shoulder, and grins. Bellamy doesn’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging the pun, just rolls his eyes as he follows her. When they reach her bedroom he crowds her up against the door, hands coming to rest on the smooth skin of her waist.

 

“You know this is a potentially terrible idea, right?”

 

“You could have said no,” she murmurs.

 

“I really couldn’t,” he admits, and takes her mouth in a deep kiss.

 

The thing is, Bellamy’s been in love with Clarke for years. She was Octavia’s roommate before she was his, and their initial interactions had been hostile, to say the least. Bellamy’s not sure exactly when that changed, but he remembers the exact moment he figured it out and recognised that the feelings were nothing new.

 

They’d been at a protest with Octavia, her boyfriend and a few other friends when fighting had broken out. They’d all been separated in the crush. Bellamy had been filming the police response on his phone when it was knocked out of his hand and trampled. He’d managed to find it, but it was smashed beyond repair and he’d been unable to contact anyone. It had been an hour before he’d been able to get through the crowds and back to Clarke and Octavia’s, and when she’d seen him Clarke had thrown herself into his arms. He’d frozen in shock and it had taken him a good few seconds to hug her back, because in the intervening moments he’d realised that as soon as he **_did_** hug her, it would be over - he’d never want to let her go.

 

He wasn’t actively pining. Being in love with Clarke was just a part of him, like being Octavia’s brother and being kind of an asshole. Sure, he’d had a moment of hesitation when Octavia and Lincoln had moved in together and Clarke had asked him to take over O’s room, but he couldn’t make himself say no. He always wanted to be around Clarke and if that made him pathetic, well, he may as well embrace it.

 

Which is why he doesn’t even consider saying no, for all that it’s going to be agony for him when he leaves her room for his. He doesn't try to fool himself that this will get her out of his system or that the sex couldn't possibly live up to what already exists in his mind. He's taking the only chance he’ll ever have. He’s learning the the press of her lips against his, the feel of her skin under his hands, the gasping little sounds she’s making. He’s filing these facts away, cataloguing the touches that elicit the strongest reaction. Storing them away in his memory because he knows this is one show only, no repeat performances.

 

Except.

 

Except it happens again. A few nights later, Clarke looks at him, eyes dark and wanting again, then climbs into his lap. He surges up to kiss her, strips her of her clothes and explores every inch of her with his lips and tongue. Licks into the slick heat of her and brings her, quivering, over the edge.

 

And again.

 

She corners him in the kitchen where he’s chopping vegetables for a stir fry. Pushes him against the counter, unbuttons his pants, and takes him in her hand.

 

Again.

 

He spends a whole hour kissing and touching her breasts, teasing and tugging at her nipples, before he gives in to her pleas and sinks into her.

 

Again.

 

She makes him grip the headboard and fucks herself on him at varying paces and angles, always changing when he gets close and denying them both release for hours.

 

He never initiates it, never reaches for her, but every time she gives him that look, he goes willingly. (Octavia works it out in a matter of days, calls him an idiot, and buys him a beer.)

 

One night, after she follows him into the shower and sinks to her knees, the words slip out.

 

“Fuck, I love you,” he groans, and they both freeze.

 

She pulls back and there are several seconds of pained silence as he tries to convince himself to open his eyes and meet her gaze. Confess properly or apologise for crossing a line. Something. But instead he waits, eyes closed, and is unsurprised by the movement in front of him, the sudden rush of cold accompanied by the rattle of the shower curtain and followed by the click of the bathroom door as it closes. The finality of the sound makes Bellamy’s heart sink.

 

He doesn’t see her for three days.

 

He knows she’s been home, because dishes move from the cupboard to the drying rack and back again. Her hoodie moves from the back of the dining room chair to the couch and back again. The painting on her easel changes. But she’s obviously been rearranging her schedule so that it clashes with his. He contemplates staying up late one night, but the last thing he wants to do is make her uncomfortable, so he keeps to his usual hours, ensures he is as predictable as ever in where he is - and isn’t - at any given time.

 

On the fourth day he gets home from work, aching and exhausted, the strap of his laptop bag digging into his shoulder and his feet aching, to find her sitting cross-legged on the couch, picking at the sleeve of her hoodie. She looks as tired as he feels, purple smudges under her eyes and face pale. Putting his bag on the sideboard as he passes, he sinks down into the armchair opposite her and reaches down to unlace his shoes. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before. Is she about to tell him she’s moving out? Ask him to leave? Will she end their friendship or just ask him to back off a little?

 

“You...you know about Finn,” she starts, and Bellamy nods. Ex-boyfriend who was cheating on his fiancee with her and then had the audacity to get himself killed in a hit and run while Clarke was still working her way around to forgiving him. “Did I ever tell you about Lexa?”

 

This name is new to him and he shakes his head, then makes himself speak when he realises Clarke’s eyes are fixed on her bare feet, carefully avoiding eye contact. “No. Who’s Lexa?”

 

“I dated her after Finn. She...she loved me, and I loved her too, but. She didn’t like anybody else, really. She was protective of the people in her life, but she...she was cold and distant. She was rational and logical to the point of...compassion and empathy took a backseat to rationality.” She lets out a shaky breath, darts her eyes up to his and then back down at her toes. “And so she made a choice that was best for her and best for her family and best for her friends...but it was bad for me. And she explained, quite logically, that it was the best decision and that I would have done the same thing, regardless of any pain it caused other people. Like she did, regardless of the pain it caused me. Regardless of who else suffered for it.” She licks her lips. “I don’t have a great track record when it comes to relationships. I told myself they weren’t for me. They weren’t what I wanted because I only got hurt.”

 

Bellamy tries to quash the hope that begins to rise in his chest, but he can’t quite manage it.

 

This time when she looks up her gaze doesn’t waver. “I panicked the other day. Because I can’t lose you. You’re my best friend and the most important person in my life. If I lost you...it would destroy me. But.” She pauses, takes a deep breath. “I love you too. And...and I think it’s worth the risk. If...if you want that. With me.”

 

The grin that comes to his face makes his cheeks hurt. “I want that with you, yeah.” The words come out in a rush and louder than he intended. Clearing his throat, he reins in his enthusiasm. “I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.”

 

“I’m going to be shit at this,” she warns. “I am going to fuck up and run away and I’ll probably be horrible to you more than once. But I want this. I want you.”

 

Bellamy leaves his chair and kneels at her feet, resting his hands on her ankles where they cross. His thumbs brush against the soft material of her pyjama pants. “I’m regularly an asshole and I’ll probably say something offensive to your mom within five minutes of meeting her. But I want this. I want you. It’s going to be amazing and shitty and wonderful and hard and so, so worth it.” He smiles at her, and her face softens in response. “I love you. And even if you break my heart, I will probably follow you around for the rest of my life. But, like, not in a creepy stalker way. In a ‘you will never lose me’ way.”

 

Clarke laughs, a hint of fear and disbelief to the sound, and slides off the couch and into his lap. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, she buries her face in his neck. When she speaks, her voice is muffled and a little choked with emotion. “I say something offensive to my mom every time I speak to her. We’re going to be fine. Right?”

 

He brushes his lips against her hair, her ear. Breathes her in and lets the knowledge that she loves him sink deep into his bones. “Yeah, Clarke. We’re gonna be fine.”


End file.
